Downshadow (36 page)

Gods, Kalen thought—was he going toward the place where he’d hidden Fayne and Myrin?

Kalen burst into the plaza just as the statue’s hands started glowing. He saw Rath standing before the statue, smiling. The dwarf sheathed his sword and spread his hands.

Whatever Downshadowers had been chasing them stopped at the edge of the cursed plaza, loathe to run into a trap.

With a grunt, Kalen charged.

The first lightning bolt was easy enough to dodge by rolling, but the second came too quickly. He tried to deflect it with Vindicator as before. Fortunately, the blast was at a sharp angle, and the bolt bounced from the enchanted steel into the ground, there to be absorbed harmlessly. The force drove Kalen to his knees, and he threw himself behind a boulder, panting.

“Come, then.” Rath stood atop the headless statue. “I wonder if you’ll be in time.”

Rath leaped up, and Kalen watched as he vanished into the air, as though entering a pocket in the darkness above the statue’s head. He saw the shadows wavering, and knew the dwarf had found a portal of some kind. But where did it lead, and how long would it stay open?

Though he knew it was a trap, he had no choice.

Kalen darted out from behind cover. He dodged a lightning bolt with a roll, then leaped over a second blast to grasp the statue’s wrist. The figure’s heat caused his hairs to rise as lightning gathered, but his eyes stayed on the unseen portal above its head.

He jumped and prayed it was yet open.

Lightning flashed.

Raien felt a sense of incredible space, as though he had been trapped somewhere cramped and now floated in the open sky. His mind reeled and he wavered on his feet.

Something hit him while he was dazed from his journey. He felt it coming only an instant before it struck and grasped the nearby wall by instinct.

Two feet collided with his face like the lance of a charging jouster. The force sent him arching back, and pain stabbed through his arm as he foughr to retain his hold. His helm shrieked as it tore free of his head and flew off, out into the Waterdeep night.

Rain lashed him as he hung weightless over empty space. He saw the lights of Waterdeep far below, and what could only be the palace roof. He realized the portal had led to the small chamber at the top of the Timehands, the great clock tower.

The temptation rose in him to let go—to sail off into the night and fall like an angel with broken wings. He was tired and beaten, choking with spellplague. The strength it lent him was fading, and soon, he would die. Why not let go? If he hung on, he would hurt more.

He hung on.

He swung into the tower, both feet leading, and kicked only air. He landed on his back with a crack that sent Shockwaves through his insides, below his numbed flesh. Broken and bruised bones, he could feel.

He lay there and listened to the loud, deliberate clicks of the clock mechanisms working all around him. Without his helmet, the noise was so loud he could barely think. His heart beat countless times between each click. He vaguely saw an open stairwell, where candlelight filtered up.

Up, he thought—up. Up.

He spat blood onto the floor and hefted himself to a sitting position. He looked everywhere for his assailant, but Rath must have vanished into the shadows. Waiting.

Kalen expected the dwarf to strike at any instant, but nothing happened. He climbed to his knees, ignoring the complaints from every ounce of his flesh, aching for him to lie down.

“Why don’t you come?” he murmured. “Here I am. Waiting.”

But he knew the answer. The dwarf didn’t want to kill him on his knees.

Up—up.

Kalen swung one foot flat onto the floor. He could feel nothing in his body. His arms and legs were dead wood to him and moved only accidentally. He had nothing left.

“Kalen?” said a voice, cutting through the chamber. Myrin. “Kalen, can you hear me?”

He murmured something that might have been “aye.”

“I’m here! Please! Come—” Then Myrin seemed to realize, and he heard her strangled gasp. “No! No—go away! Leave me here! Begone!”

Kalen paused, thinking perhaps Rath had seized her, but then he saw the girl. Tiny blue runes glowed like candles on her skin. He pushed Vindicator in her direction and saw that she was alone, curled up against a corner of the clock room. Runes glowed beneath her eyes, which glittered in the swordlight. He stood and limped to her, fighting to move every pace.

Myrin shook her head, pleading with her eyes that he turn away. He kept coming, though it would kill him. When she saw he would not stop, she sobbed incoherently.

He reached her side and set Vindicator on the floor. He wrapped his dead arms around her and rested his bloody chin on her shoulder. She was shivering.

“Peace,” he whispered, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“It was Fayne!” Myrin moaned. “She said—she said such horrible, horrible things.” She shivered. “Oh, gods, Kalen! I’m—gods, all those people!”

“Peace.”

“But you don’t understand. I’m sick! I’m carrying something that—Fayne said—”

“Stop.” Kalen put his fingers across her lips. “Fayne lied.”

Myrin stared at him, dumbstruck and frightened and wrathful all at once. Her eyes pooled with tears, and Kalen could see blue flames deep within them.

“Truly?” Myrin asked. “Oh, Kalen—truly?”

Even as Shadowbane, Kalen Dren had never lied. Deceived, yes. Left words unspoken, yes. But flatly lied? Would he be lying to Myrin in that moment? He did not know.

“Yes,” he said.

Myrin turned in his arms—held him as tightly as her thin limbs could—and kissed him.

To Kalen, she felt like fire—a wrenching, sucking fire that drained his body. He gagged, breaking the kiss, knowing he would die in that instant. Myrin just held him, weeping.

Then, something returned to him. Life, vitality, strength—it was like healing magic, but painful, and it was pain he could truly feel. He couldn’t speak—couldn’t think—just held Myrin as she held him, weeping and sobbing. Everything else faded, leaving them the only beings in an empty world.

Then it was over, and they were just holding one another, alone in a tiny chamber at the top of the grandest city in the world. A great sense of space spiraled around them, and Kalen felt weak and vulnerable and very small indeed. But he was strong enough for Myrin.

Kalen pressed her head against his chest, holding her as she sobbed, and fancied that he could feel her hot tears soaking through his clothes. Or was that only phantom feeling?

“How touching.” Rath appeared around rhe clock apparatus. He held his thin sword wide. “And now that you’re on your feet, I can kill you.”

Kalen let go of Myrin and directed her back to the wall. She didn’t move. “Myrin,” he said. He could barely manage a whisper. “No,” she said and rose to her feet. “You’re not hurting him.”

Rath shrugged. He pulled something from his belt. A grayish white stick of wood. “I told you I would not kill you, girl,” he said. “But there would be consequences to your—”

Myrin thrust out her hand and the wand wrenched itself from Rath’s grasp. It flew between her fingers and crackled with magic. “Begone!” she cried.

A bolt of freezing amethyst light streaked past Rath as he twisted aside. It slammed into the wall, blowing hunks of stone in every direction and sending lines of frost crinkling across the stone. The dwarf looked at the patch of ice, then at Myrin, his face an arrogant mask.

“No more!” Myrin declaimed words of power and twirled her wand. “No more!”

Rath started dodging, but the bolt of force that shot from her wand stabbed him in the shoulder. The dwarf cursed, faltering in his dodge, and Myrin cried out in triumph.

As though he’d been waiting for just that moment of distraction, Rath lunged at her.

Kalen moved. Vindicator caught the dwarf s blade and pushed it harmlessly wide.

As Rath barreled in, a victim of his own momentum, Kalen whirled and dealt the dwarf a left hook to his burned face. Clutching at his wound, Rath tumbled back.

Kalen drew a circle with the Helm-marked sword, and a ring of silver runes appeared in the air. Their holy radiance sent Rath staggering back, and Kalen saw Myrin’s face bathed in his threefold god’s light. How beautiful she appeared.

Kalen and followed Rath.

They fought along the floor and off the walls of the small chamber, blades ringing and scraping. Kalen felt new strength—new fury— flooding his limbs. He felt everything, as though the numbness had fled him. He had no need of inner darkness to hide his pain, for it was gone. Rage coursed through him and he fought tirelessly. Vindicator blazed with light as he struck the dwarf’s blade, knocking Rath back.

Rath weaved his blade and spun, and Kalen slashed at him. Their swords clashed and sparked, silver fire trailing. Kalen cut wide and

punched around a parry, but Rath danced seemingly along the ceiling, flowing along slashes of Vindicator.

They cut through gears and pulleys, and once Kalen slammed into a bell, setting it to ring the dawn. Waterdeep would awaken many hours before dawn this day. In his fury, he didn’t care.

Myrin shouted more words of power and multicolored stars burst into being in Kalen’s eyes, dazing him. Rath might have struck in that moment, but the dwarf, too, staggered.

“That isn’t helping,” Kalen hissed, as he and the dwarf recovered in the same breath.

As Rath fell into a defensive stance, Kalen stabbed high. The dwarf ducked and turned a flip backward, kicking Kalen’s hand up. The glowing bastard sword spun up into the darkness.

Rarh twirled back, kicked off the wall, and lunged forward, sword leading—and hit air where Kalen had been standing.

Kalen leaped after Vindicator, caught it, and slashed down. He cut open the back of Rath’s robe.

Kalen landed two paces from the dwarf, and they stared at each other.

Then Rath leaped back, avoiding a beam of frost from Myrin’s wand.

“Stop!” Kalen cried, but it was too late.

Myrin’s face was drawn and haggard, and she collapsed to her knees. Blue tattoos sprouted all across her skin, as though the runes were taking over her body. Her wand sagged roward the floor. She stood near the room’s window, where the portal had deposited Kalen.

As Rath surged to her, blade low, Myrin pointed the wand with her shaking hand.

A bursr of flame emerged from her wand and struck Rath’s sword. The blade turned red almost instantly, and Rath hurled it at Myrin. The girl gasped and dodged, and the glowing blade flew out the window.

The dwarf’s iron hands caught Myrin by the throat and wrist, holding the wand wide.

“Stop!” Kalen said. He held Vindicator level, pointed at Rath.

“Take another step, Shadowbane,” Rath said, tapping his fingers on Myrin’s cheek.

“Kalen!” Myrin croaked. “Just cut through me if you have to! I’m not important!”

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Myrin, don’t be afraid. I’m going to save you.

“What Fayne said, Kalen! I’m not—gkk!”

Rath squeezed her throat tightly enough to cut off air. The knight waited, breathing hard, never taking his eyes from the dwarf’s face.

“I wonder.” Rath regarded Myrin for a single heartbeat then looked at Kalen. “Which is more important to you—justice or her?”

Kalen said nothing. Vindicator dripped silver-white flame like blood onto the floor.

The dwarf grinned. “Let us see.”

He hurled Myrin out the window. She screamed and fell away, arms whirling vainly.

Kalen ran and leaped, sword leading. Rath slid a step to the left, his hands raised, but the knight went past him into the night.

Lightning flashed and an awful screech, as of metal on stone, joined the thunder.

Bain tore the night to shreds, and lightning bathed the high clock tower in light bright enough to match the day. Kalen hung from the tower, his righr hand on the hilt of Vindicator—which he’d wedged between two stones. A struggling Myrin hung from his left.

“You idiot!” Tears fell from Myrin’s eyes as she beat at him with her free hand, trying to break his grip on her wrist. “Just let go of me!”

“Stop that,” Kalen said. He swung her a little one way, then back the other way, like a pendulum—like the amulet on Fayne’s breast…

Rath’s head appeared in the window.

Kalen kept swinging Myrin, wider and wider. Her feet kicked at the rain-slicked tower stones, but Kalen knew she wouldn’t find a hold. There was no ledge between them and the palace roof below. Only Vindicator kepr them aloft.

Kalen gritted his teeth and pulled. Myrin swung over open air—and back the other way.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Are you insane?”

Kalen kept swinging her. Wider—wider. “Listen to me,” he said.

“Just drop me!” she sobbed. “I don’t want to kill all those people—”

“Listen,” Kalen snapped. Myrin gaped. “The ring… laced in my sleeve. Put it on.”

Myrin moaned. “Just let me go!”

“Put it on!” Kalen roared over the rain and thunder.

Then Vindicator shook. Myrin bounced and shrieked, and Kalen gasped at the strain. He looked up, and standing on the broad hilt of his sword—and his gauntlet—was Rath. The dwarf had scrambled

down the wall nimbly as a spider and perched on Kalen’s sword. Rain streaked around him.

“Interesting plan,” the dwarf said.

Kalen couldn’t spare a glance ar Myrin, but he felt her taking the ring from his sleeve. He prayed the dwarf wouldn’t notice.

“I don’t imagine my standing here hurts you—you can’t feel it, can you?” Rath raised one foot, keeping balance. “But even nerveless fingers can’r hold you up when they’re crushed.”

Kalen gritted his teeth against the storm and the pain in his straining arm. “Make an empriness of myself… in which there is no pain …” He kept swinging.

Rath stomped.

Kalen felt it—less than he should have, but no amount of spellplague could mask the jolt of a broken forefinger. Just one finger—the dwarf was cruelly accurare. Kalen swung and almost fell, but kept a hold. Myrin gave a cry halfway between a scream and a sob.

“Put… it..-. on,” Kalen hissed at Myrin.